


Mercy (frosthawk drabble)

by mageprinceloki



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 01:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1369057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mageprinceloki/pseuds/mageprinceloki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This one's a bit dark, the result of some drabbling to-and-fro with an RP partner... I'm not thrilled with how it turned out, personally, I was experimenting with some stylistic things, so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mercy (frosthawk drabble)

Everything was a game, in the trickster’s eyes. From political machinations and the downfall of worlds to simple chit-chat.

There were always rules.  **[** _that could be discarded at will **]**_  

There was always a clear winner. **[** _the king is dead; long live the king **]**_  

And strategy determined success.

Head canted, he stared down at the archer with eyes as cold and bright as gemstones, admiring the crossed lines of purple and red that etched his skin and the quick, cautious breaths he took to minimize pain. It irritated him that Barton refused to raise his head, keeping his eyes  **[** _so lovely; the exact color of tarnished steel_ **]** lowered and not on him.

     Not on his  ~~king~~.  
                       **[** _Not on his **god**. **]**_

This, too, was a game, though the stakes here were higher. Still, what was one man’s life when weighed in the balance with so many others he’d taken?

"Stop," Clint whispered. Genuine fear there; it knifed through Loki with a sweetness that almost ached. "Would you please just  _stop_?”

Thin lips curved in a spiteful crescent. Delicate fingers gripped his short-cropped hair and pulled. As almost an afterthought, the Liesmith nestled the toe of his boot between the kneeling man’s legs, just underneath the most delicate spot, and lifted until his servant winced.

"That isn’t the word I want." His voice was lower, roughened at the edges, less like silk than velvet. " _Say it._ ”

He could almost taste the man’s defiance as it rose again, and felt a giddy joy that was almost sickening at the hope that he might need to push still farther. The blanched, sweat-slick skin and shrunken pupils suggested he was fighting off shock, and Loki wondered if he may have broken something.

"Mercy," Clint grated, nearly spitting the word.

It wasn’t good enough, and the both knew it. Loki’s foot twisted, digging in deeper and though it clearly hurt, the man said nothing more. Silence stretched between them, the shadows filling slowly with a gathering tension that promised storms.

“ ** _No,_** " the trickster answered, his voice cutting through the fatal hush and severing whatever had bound them together. It was the answer they both knew would come, issued with the absolute finality of a god condemning a mortal to death.


End file.
